So, come once more.

The suns float past like windblown golden dust--like the countless lamps of boats upon the bosom of a summer sea.
There, beneath, lies the very home of Power.

Those springing sparks of light?
They are the ineffable Decrees passing outward through infinity.
That sound?
It is the voice of worlds which worship.
Look now! Out yonder see the flaming gases gather and cohere.

They burn out and the great globe blackens.

Cool mists wrap it, rains fall, seas collect, continents arise.